


its an unrequited love

by eggsntoast



Category: WTFock | Skam (Belgium)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Mutual Pining, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Pining, Strangers to Lovers, Unrequited Love, sander pov
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 00:22:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,170
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22854661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eggsntoast/pseuds/eggsntoast
Summary: Sander works part-time at a museum every Sunday. Robbe is a frequent visitor.
Relationships: Sander Driesen/Robbe IJzermans
Comments: 29
Kudos: 304





	its an unrequited love

**Author's Note:**

> my love letter to sander <3
> 
> enjoy!
> 
> title from bad religion by frank ocean <3

### December 6th - 7:50 AM - maybe next time

Sander kicked the side of the brick wall a few times, watching the snow as it came off his boots in big chunks before he steps through the side door, flicking away his cigarette and taking out one of his earphones.

Half his head is filled with _Ziggy Stardust_ , the other half is filled with the music that flowed overhead through every part of the museum, even the dimly lit hallway he was currently walking through, making his way to the locker room. It was _Beethoven_ , or something, Sander wasn’t sure, it wasn’t really his style, at least it wasn’t until he started working at the museum two months ago. He’d gotten the job through Gustavo, his art teacher from high school who was helping Sander with his portfolio. It just so happened that Gustavo’s husband was the head curator of _Museum aan de Stroom_ , and in desperate need of a part-timer for the holiday months. 

He probably wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he wants to learn the flute now, maybe the clarinet. He’d tried his share of musical instruments, and nothing really stuck. Thinking about his art portfolio made him uneasy, and listening to _maybe_ _Bach_ and Bowie battle it out was much more enticing. He was only here once a week, he spent the rest of his time in and out of a studio apartment, other dropouts coming and going with him. Or, _dreamers_ , he figures he should call them. 

He’s a dreamer. 

He steps into the locker room, pleased to find it empty this early in the day, and shuffles off his coat, putting his backpack away and taking out his uniform. It’s just a vest, red with his name etched in white for a Holiday theme. He kind of hated it, but he was allowed to wear whatever he wanted underneath it, and today he’d chosen a black graphic tee with a white building on the front. 

He looked at himself in the mirror before he realized he was still wearing his beanie. He took it off and then sighed at his reflection, the state of his hair an utter _mess_ . It was more noticeable now, instead of a dark brown mess, it was _blonde_ . Or, more _white_ , if it was the right lighting. He was liking it more and more every day.

Sander couldn’t help but smile a little at it, and if he tilted his head to the side he could see some of his roots below. It looked like charcoal against a fresh canvas. That made his fingers flinch, and then he frowned, he had an eight-hour shift to get through on this _fine_ Sunday before he could get to any work. One shift a week was easy enough, he couldn’t really complain, not when his mother was letting him off so easily this year. But he knew she was getting anxious, just as he was, her eyes always swimming with questions.

He put his beanie away and slammed the locker closed with his foot as he turned, pocketing his phone and taking out his keycard, punching in, and making his way down the dimly lit hallway again, sighing as he swipes through the door to get to the main hall, each step he takes echoing around him.

“Sander! How are you?” Angelica, the full-time receptionist, smiles widely up at Sander as he makes his way over. “Woah, I like your new hair, very artsy.” She nods, giving her approval, and Sander _beams_. 

She’s always giving him a smile, over-caffeinated and stressed, but happy nonetheless. Sander always tries to give a smile back, the best he can muster this early in the morning. It’s good practice for the Sunday afternoon rush, which he was specifically hired to help out for. 

“Thanks.” He says, trying to calm the smile a little, trying not to look too enamoured at the compliment. His hair was still very fresh, and not many people had seen it. “I’m tired, you?” He asks, shuffling behind her as he enters their small round booth, their home for the day. He sits in his chair across from her but spins around to face her, and she does the same. “How’s Mia?” 

“Here, have some coffee,” She offers, as she always does, but Sander declines, as he does, waiting for her to continue. “She’s good, stressed about college applications, but who isn’t at her age?” She laughs, and then, “How’s your week been? Have you thought about what you’re doing?”

Sander shrugs. He gets the same look she’s giving him from his own mother, he doesn’t need it at 8 am on a Sunday from someone else’s. It’s so _early_ . He hates this, but then again, he’s never wanted to be anywhere _more_. 

He’s felt pretty in his element here, even though he truly feels best surrounded by the natural lighting of the floor to ceiling windows of the studio, hands covered in pastels or something equally as tempting. But thoughts of possibly becoming a curator of sorts has begun to pepper through his mind, he could see himself here, working at a museum full-time, surrounded by art. 

But, he has other things he wants to do first. Other _dreams._

 _Goals_ , his therapist would tell him to say, _don’t make them feel unrealistic, you can do anything you set your mind to._ At least someone in his life was still optimistic. 

“Well, applications _are_ due soon, which means my gap year’s almost up,” He laughs, because saying the words out loud makes him want to laugh at it, at himself mostly. Then he spins in his chair, bending over to turn on his monitor, then his desktop, spinning back to her as it boots up for the day. “I’ve got my portfolio together, I just need to send it in.”

“What’s stopping you?” She asks, and Sander reaches for her coffee, taking off the lip-stained lid and taking a quick sip.

“Ugh, is that like, quadruple espresso?” He fakes a small grimace before smiling, popping the lid back on and handing it back to her. 

“It’s a black coffee, Sander.”

“Well, you don’t need sugar, you’re sweet enough.” 

Angelica rolls her eyes as her face flushes, waving a hand in his direction to dismiss the compliment, already turning in her chair. 

“Do you think your _crush_ will be in today?” She asks, and now it’s Sander’s turn to blush, apparently, because his cheeks feel hot and his eyes widen, and he quickly turns in his chair, avoiding her very obvious stare, trying not to let his jaw drop to the floor. 

“I have no idea what you’re talking about, Ang, and, we have work to do.” He says quickly, logging in to his account, running the cursor around the screen as he waits for it to load, all while Angelica chuckles behind him. 

“Alright then.” 

It ends _that_ conversation, for now, and it takes Sander a while before he’s less overwhelmed, before his heart stops beating out of his chest. He focuses on running the programs, checking emails, checking any pickup schedules. 

He turns back to Angelica, not even two minutes later, still flustered.

“Was he in yesterday?” He asks, because he can’t help himself, it seems. His mind feels like a lump of mud, or _clay_ better yet, in desperate need of molding. He _could_ just check yesterday’s logins and see if he came in or not, but that feels weird to do. So he asks instead. 

“Nope.” She chimes, smiling at him over her shoulder, and Sander can’t hold back his own this time, turning to face his computer and leaning his cheek on his hand, trying to hide his flushed face from his own reflection. 

He replies to emails, he says his _good mornings_ to whoever comes in, always making sure the passes are up to date. 

The morning ticks on slowly, Sander’s eyes drifting through the room, watching the sunlight cast different shadows around the room as the hours go by, and soon, it’s 11, and the rush is picking up, and Sander’s cheeks are starting to hurt from all the smiling. 

“How’re my two favorite receptionists doing?” Louis, the head curator of the museum, leans over the counter, picking up his mail in his slot as he goes by. “Woah! Sander, I like the new hair. _Very_ cool.” 

“Thanks, and you don’t have to lie, I know _I’m_ your favorite,” Sander says after he’s handed two day passes to a mother and son, sitting back in his chair with a grin, looking to Angelica who gives him a small, friendly scowl, if there could be such a thing. 

“You’re my favorite on _Sundays_ when you can be here full-time.” He says, and then takes an envelope opener, cutting all five open absently as he continues, “I’m only joking, how’re the art lessons?”

“It’s not lessons, I’m just…doing my thing I guess? It’s going alright.” 

“You should come by for dinner, Gus has been into _bread-making_ , lately, and he’s really good at it. He could use some outside critique, though.” Louis smiles sweetly, but his eyes tell a different story of Gus’ bread-making, and it makes Sander stifle a small laugh, give Louis a quirk of his brow, who then turns to Angelica, “And you too, of course, I’d love to have either of you for dinner, any time!” 

“As if I don’t get enough of you throughout the week.” Angelica jokes and Louis frowns. 

“No bread for you, then. Sander?”

“I’ll see if I can fit you into my schedule.” 

“Oh you’re so busy, are you?” Louis laughs over his shoulder, “Get back to work then.” He’s already gone before Sander can respond, so he sits back in his chair, a little exasperated, before he looks up. 

And then his heart stops, or at least, it feels like it does. It clenches, and his throat closes up, only for a moment, but it feels like an _eternity._

He blinks, once, twice, three times, and then another four times before he realizes he should _say_ something. _Fuck_ . _Words?_

“Hey.” Sander manages, and somehow his voice doesn’t betray him, it doesn’t waver, it sounds friendly. He sits up, a little stiffly, cheeks pulling up into a smile, and it doesn’t feel painful, not even a little.

“Hey.” He responds. _Him._

_The Moonlight Boy._

Sander had coined the small nickname when he’d first seen him, before he’d known his name, Sander already knew he’d have to sketch him with charcoal, for only the soft brush of his fingers against the canvas could come close to emulating how _soft_ he looked. How _gorgeous_. Maybe mix it up with some blue pastels, get the colors just right. 

It was the only time Sander had taken a late shift, and though he’d initially regretted being there when it was so dead quiet, he now looks at it as though some alignment of fate. 

He was standing by the entrance, no one but him and the security guard, Gerard, were around, which is why he was standing _here_ instead of seated in his booth, leaning against the windows, staring out into the city night and wishing for time to go by _faster_ so he could get to bed. 

And that’s when _he_ showed up, climbing the steps two at a time, illuminated by the moonlight, hunched over with his headphones on, but then he’d looked up, and met Sander’s eyes. And nothing else really mattered, all of a sudden. Nothing else mattered as the two stood locked in a gaze, shoulders straightening, eyes widening, and maybe it _was_ only a brief glance, but Sander’s been swooning ever since. 

He wishes he’d had his camera that night, but he doesn’t bring that to work with him. 

He doesn’t always see him, which is why, at 11:45 on a Sunday, Sander is currently tongue-tied, staring up into the deep brown eyes that make his head spin. 

He exhales.

“Got your pass?” He asks, and _Moonlight Boy_ slides it over the counter toward him. Sander lifts his hand to take it just as his hand slips away, and if he’d been a moment faster, he might’ve been able to touch him. _Fuck_ , _that’s so weird, relax_. 

Sander scans his card, clenching his jaw as he waits for the screen to load. 

_ROBBE IZJERMANS - VALID UNTIL DECEMBER 31st 2019_

“Here you go.” Sander smiles and holds the keycard up to him. Robbe takes it, and their fingers brush, and it’s more than Sander ever imagined it would be. He wants more, he craves so much, to just reach across the counter and hold him, but he doesn’t. Of course, he doesn’t. He doesn’t, and he wishes he could. “Enjoy your stay.” He says, and Robbe nods with a small laugh as he pockets the card, hands reaching up to pull his headphones over his head again.

“Thanks.” He says, his gaze lingering a moment longer, just _staring_. Sander doesn’t know what to do, so he waits, blinking helplessly. “Cool hair.” He says, and then he’s gone, and he takes all of Sander’s breath with him. 

“That was hard to watch.” Angelica says after a minute has passed of Sander sitting there blankly, staring at the spot Robbe just was. _He liked my hair._

“Did I say... _‘Enjoy your stay’_ ?” Sander asks, trying to recall the moment, but he couldn’t remember a second of it. He was too focused on Robbe’s comment, or _compliment,_ on his hair. 

It instantly made the stinging stench of bleach that he’d had left in his room all week worth it. 

“You did.” She answers, giving him a grim look. 

“Oh _God_.” Sander collapses, hiding his face in his hands and spinning his chair away from Angelica. He doesn’t go far, and he ends up spinning fully around to face her again. 

“It’s okay, maybe next time, bud.” 

“Patronizing.”

“I try.” She laughs, and Sander rolls his eyes. 

The rest of his shift goes by, and Sander doesn’t see Robbe until his shift is over. 

He almost doesn’t notice him at all, walking along the exterior wall, his hand dragging over the railing as he swipes through his phone, and then he’s gone, once again, and Sander watches from a distance, eyes glued. 

_Maybe next time._

### December 20th - 1:20 PM - as above, so below

Sander has been smiling for two hours straight, now, and every time he looks over to Angelica, she sends him some wide eyes, and he knows she’s feeling the same thing he is: _exhausted_. 

The strongest coffee couldn’t help them through this rush. Not only is it their usual Sunday museum-goers, but a whole new round of people, rushing in to fill their time with something interesting for the holidays. Sander always found it endearing how many families came to spend their time here, even if it was a hassle with all the kids running and causing havoc. 

Sander runs his hands through his hair for a quick moment, feeling a little on edge and in need of a break as he closes out of a few tabs. His break should be any minute, now, he only has to get through a few more customers. 

“Good afternoon, would you like to buy a day pass?” Sander looks up from his monitor, and everything goes silent. 

It’s Robbe. It’s always Robbe that makes him speechless like this, that makes everything else seem nonexistent, but this time it’s different. Robbe’s not smiling like he usually is. He looks _sad_ . He actually looks like he’s been _crying_ , those deep brown eyes are tired and worn today _._

Sander stands from his chair, and Robbe’s eyes widen a little as he looks up at him, and Sander never realized how much taller he was than him. It’s not much, but it’s enough for Robbe to be looking up at him, albeit a little shyly, from under his lashes, almost as if he’s afraid to meet Sander’s gaze for too long. 

“Got your pass?” Sander asks after a moment, and Robbe nods, a little dazed, then digs through his coat pocket, handing his card to Sander. Sander holds it for a moment, then turns to sign him in. 

“It’s really busy today.” Robbe states as he looks around a little nervously, as if the crowds are a bit overwhelming and Sander nods. He understands that fully. He thinks he might understand _everything_ Robbe is feeling at this moment. He doesn’t know what to say to make it better, but he wants to. 

“Yeah.” He says, handing back the pass and Robbe pockets it. He looks back up to Sander, and then despite the pure sadness etched into every inch of him, he _smiles_ . Just a little one, and Sander’s heart flutters in his chest. He’s so fucking _precious_. 

“Thanks.” He’s about to turn, and Sander stutters. 

“Uh- I-” Sander freezes, because he doesn’t know what he wants to say. But _something_ , _something_ to make this beautiful boy smile again.

“What?” Robbe asks, eyes searching, and Sander glances towards the digital clock next to his computer. 

“I’m about to go on break, did you want some company?” It comes out a _lot_ smoother than he thought it would. Some would say it sounded rehearsed. So what if it is?

“Oh, I don’t -- _you_ don’t have to give up your break time.”

“I _want_ to. I mean -- if _you_ want company?” And that’s not rehearsed. The air hangs between them, shifting from something a little awkward into something… _comfortable_ , in a way he can’t really explain. 

“Sure.” Robbe says, and Sander gasps a little. He wasn’t expecting this. He wasn’t even expecting to get this far into a conversation today, _ever._ It may just be the most words he’s ever spoken to Robbe so far. 26. _But who’s counting?_

“Really?”

“Yeah.” He shrugs, “I could use some company.” 

Sander almost trips as he makes his way past Angelica, who taps him excitedly on his side as he gets out of the booth. Sander avoids looking at her, he knows if he even spared a _glance_ she would be beaming at him, and he’d _have_ to give a smile back. He’s already trying to seem nonchalant. He can’t risk looking _too_ excited about this. 

Robbe waits for him, and Sander unbuttons his vest, throwing it back in the booth and it lands somewhere near his chair. Robbe chuckles lightly at the gesture, a small light coming to his eyes but its dimmed by the time Sander reaches him. 

“What’s your favorite exhibit?” Sander asks, and Robbe shrugs, a light, exasperated chuckle escaping him as he begins to walk, and Sander follows. 

“What’s yours?” 

“ _Life and Death.”_ He says quickly, a little too earnestly, and Robbe nods absently. 

“How long do you have?” Robbe asks, glancing over at Sander as they walk side by side, and Sander tries not to melt every time their shoulders brush. The museum is _packed_ today, and all the crowds are only making Sander have to get closer. For the first time ever he doesn’t mind how crowded it is. “What do you mean?” 

“On your break?”

“Oh, half-hour.”

Robbe nods. 

They end up at the _Life and Death_ exhibit, standing with a good distance between them, staring up at one of Sander’s least favorite art pieces of the collection. 

“You don’t like this one?” Robbe asks, and Sander tears his eyes from the horrific blend of orange and green oils to look at Robbe, who still looks so worse for wear. He looks _exhausted_ , but the second Sander meets his gaze, there’s a smile, just a hint of it at the corner of his lips. 

“What makes you think that?”

“You’re frowning at it.” 

“I just don’t think it’s the best one to place at the entrance of this exhibit. It completely undermines the rest of the pieces - I mean, look around, _nothing_ else here is done in oils, plus this piece doesn’t even have _half_ of the intensity of the rest of them. Maybe that’s why, they didn’t want to freak people out so early on, especially with an exhibit called _Life and Death_.”

“I mean, I don’t think people come to a museum to be reminded of their mortality, _but_ it does have some of the rawest, most intense art pieces I’ve ever seen. Except for this one, I don’t like it at all.” Sander chuckles, and then stops, realizing he just rambled a little too much. 

Robbe lets out a laugh, and though it sounds half-hearted, the look he gives Sander makes it feel so much more. 

“So what _is_ your favorite, then?”

Sander leads him to his favorite piece. 

It’s a wire sculpture of a person, arms stretched up into the air, and the way it was melded together makes it all twisted. There's no way of telling where it begins, and where it ends. It had made Sander stop in his tracks when he’d first seen it, his eyes wide and transfixed, following the curves, the tarnished pieces that would diverge into new, bright copper, the old making way for the new. 

Sander had never worked with anything other than clay, but he _yearned_ for the day he’d work with different mediums, get his hands as messy as he could, looked forward to the frustrations of learning a new craft, developing a love for it. 

“The piece is called _As Above, So Below_ .” Sander states, tilting his head to the side as his eyes outline the inner warped coils, making his own stomach twist. He looks to Robbe, whose gazing at the sculpture with an unreadable expression. He turns back to the piece before Robbe catches him staring. “The title comes from an expression used to explain the _interconnectedness of the world and space as we know it._ ” He chuckles nervously, and Robbe lets out a hum, signaling Sander to continue. 

“The artist suffers from anxiety and depression, they wanted to create a piece that resembled what they felt on the inside as opposed to the outside. You see how the copper is tarnished all over the inside but not on the outside?” He points, but doesn’t touch, afraid it might spark him if he does. He glances at Robbe, who’s expression has softened towards the sculpture, and Sander feels his heart skip before he looks back to it. 

“But there are pieces tarnished on the outside too, and bright, vibrant copper on the inside. They created the piece not only to represent their struggle with themselves, but with the world around them, and as a reminder that we’re all connected to something _bigger_ than ourselves. And even though that’s something that can be... _terrifying_ , it’s also given us this _magnificent_ piece. There’s beauty in all of the madness.” He stops then, because he could’ve kept going, but he’s already been talking for at _least_ five minutes, and his mouth has gone dry and Robbe hasn’t said a _thing._

It’s quiet, and Sander shuffles a little further, crossing his arms. 

“I like it.” Robbe says suddenly, his voice a lot more stronger than when he first arrived, and when Sander looks to him, Robbe’s already looking toward him, giving him a shy smile that grows under his gaze, and Sander huffs a small laugh as they stare for another moment, at one another, the piece forgotten, only for a moment. A beautiful moment that Sander wishes would last forever. 

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. A lot, actually.” He nods. “I haven’t…” He trails off, breaking their little staring contest as he glances around, eyes landing back on the sculpture, “Explored this exhibit, not really.”

“Where do you go when you come here?” Sander asks, his tone soft, much like Robbe, who’s glancing back at Sander with a small shrug. 

“I usually just find the quietest exhibit and chill there for a few hours.” 

“Why?”

Robbe shrugs, and then he turns his heel and starts walking, and Sander is baffled for a moment, but he follows, quickly, walking just a step behind him. 

“Tell me about this one?” Robbe asks, and now they’re stopped in front of another art piece. Sander looks at him for a moment, but Robbe doesn’t say anything else, he just waits. 

So Sander tells him about the art, and then they go to the next, Robbe stopping at random parts of the exhibit and allowing Sander to gush about each piece like it’s his own. 

He doesn’t know how long it’s been, but then his phone start’s buzzing, and it’s _Louis_ , and he’s been gone for almost an hour. 

“Oh, fuck.” Sander starts, and Robbe looks alarmed for a moment, “We got carried away, huh?” Sander chuckles, and Robbe’s cheeks flush. 

“Sorry, to keep you, I --” He begins, flustered. 

“No, it’s fine, I mean, I was basically just giving you a tour anyways.” Sander trips over his words too, cutting off Robbe unintentionally. Robbe deflates a little, his smile falters, and Sander backtracks. “Not that I _minded_ , I’ll be your private tour guide whenever you want.” 

And maybe now Sander’s come on a little _too_ strong, because Robbe laughs, but it sounds strained, forced, like he’s unsure how to respond to that, and Sander wants to _explode._

“I mean-”

“That’d be cool.” Robbe says quickly, and the rest of Sander’s words die on his tongue. He nods, and then his phone starts buzzing again. “You should get going.” He turns his head, looking to the last piece that Sander had not finished talking about, but he did have to go. 

Robbe looks at Sander again, as Sander lets his phone ring, and ring, and then it stops. 

“We’ll continue this _tour_ another time?” Robbe says quietly, a hint of a smile, and it fills Sander with something akin to _hope_. 

“How would you rate it so far?”

“Hmm,” Robbe stifles a laugh, and Sander can’t fight his own smile now. “3.5, but I’m sure you could get it to 5 stars.” 

“Such a humble score. I’m honored to be a 3.5.” Sander does a small bow, and then Robbe is laughing, _fully_ laughing, eyes _sparkling_ for the first time all day. And Sander nearly does a fist bump in the air, he does do a small one, just to his side, and Robbe doesn’t notice because he’s looking away, his cheeks positively _flushed_. 

“See you around, Sander.” Robbe nods, and then Sander gives him a little salute before he goes. 

He practically runs back to his booth, apologizing for being late, but Angelica waves it off, even though the line has grown tenfold. 

“I was covering for you, you should’ve just stayed with him!” She says, and Sander quickly puts on his vest, huffing a laugh. 

He pauses then for a moment, because he doesn’t remember telling Robbe his name, and yet... Robbe called him by name when he said goodbye. 

### January 17th - 1:00 PM - when words fail 

Sander drinks his third cup of green tea as quickly as he can as he watches the next group of people approach the booth. He keeps a smile on, as pleasant as they come, and after five minutes he’s able to relax again. 

He needs a breather. 

He runs a hand through his hair and instantly regrets it, remembering how _flat_ it is, how terrible it must look, and he should’ve showered before his shift. He should have done a lot of things in preparation for this shift, and yet, the most he’d done is gotten dressed and a cup of tea. At the time it seemed like enough. 

Angelica turns to him in her chair, and Sander meets her eyes after a small internal debate with himself on whether he should look at her at all. She’s giving a small, careful smile, as if she’s treading lightly on his quiet moment. _Swimming pools of questions_. 

“Are you hungry?” Angelica asks, and Sander shrugs. 

“I’ll eat when I go on break.”

“Did you bring anything?”

“Uh, yeah.” Sander nods, beginning to turn away from her, because he’s not the greatest liar, and he can’t give her anything more. He sips his tea again. “I have a sandwich.” He tries, and then she hums. 

“Okay.” She’s busy with a customer then and Sander is _relieved._

He has not been able to come to a shift in the past three weeks. 

After a fight with his mother, which mostly had become a blur by now, Sander spent a week in his studio, sleeping there and _living_ with his art, and the first week was blissful. But then he’d gotten into a fight with the landlord, and Sander came back from a trip to the Kwik-E-Mart to find all of his things out on the sidewalk.

It was more than he could carry, and a lot of his things, his art supplies, were ruined from being thrown out without care. He’d gone back home, carrying what he could, dropped his things at the front door, then went straight to bed. 

He assumes his mom called into work for him, but he hasn’t asked. He’s wanted to, but the guilt of it all overwhelms him. She already has to take care of him in so many ways, and it pains him that he couldn’t muster enough strength to make a fucking phone call, at least. He knows he shouldn’t internalize this, that he should let bygones be bygones and remind himself that _everyone_ has bad days. 

But his bad day has bled into the past three weeks of his life, and he was tired of the bad days. He was tired of thinking about them, of how to get out of them, of what steps he can take to prevent the next one. He doesn’t know how he would’ve prevented _this_ one, so how can he account for the future? The ever-daunting future, where his dreams remain dreams, where, somewhere, in the unreachable distance he’s able to make it into work at least once a week.

Today was his first shift that he _desperately_ needed to get back to. He missed the environment, the ease, the small pleasantries he could exchange between strangers and his co-workers, even if he was so drained he could barely keep a conversation. He needed to get out of the house, away from his mother’s overbearing nature, which he knew was only out of love, but sometimes it could be more exhausting than anything else. 

Louis and Angelica had been checking on him intermittently throughout the day and Sander kept checking the time, waiting for his break so he could go have a smoke in peace, the only vice he still hangs onto. And no, that’s not true, there’s a lot of things Sander has to regret, a lot of things that keep his mind racing and --

Maybe he wasn’t ready for another shift yet, but _fuck_ , he needed the money if he was going to replace all of his art supplies, and possibly ever move out. _Ha_. 

And that was enough to keep him here, for now, seated in his chair, back to the regular blue vest with his name etched in white. He hadn’t talked to Louis about staying after the holiday season was over, but his vest had changed from red to blue in the past three weeks, and Louis had booked him for the next month. 

“Going on break soon?” 

His head snaps up from where he was currently playing around in MSPaint for the past few minutes, having drawn something resembling a flower absently, and he deflates, staring up at _Robbe_ , whom he hadn’t really thought about the past three weeks. 

He takes a breath, suddenly invigorated with nerves and _excitement_ , the unfamiliar glow of happiness he feels in Robbe’s presence is intoxicating. Robbe gives him a smile, the question hanging between them, and Sander takes a moment to just look at him. He looks relaxed, happier than the last time Sander saw him, and for a moment his heart sinks, because he doesn’t know how to reciprocate that right now. 

Sander looks to the clock, he still has at least fifteen minutes before his break starts. 

“Uh, yeah, soon.” He nods, and Robbe slides his pass to him, an unmistakable excitement in his eyes. Sander absently raises another hand to his hair, pushing it back from where it’s laying against his forehead, hoping he looks somewhat presentable. 

“What time?” He asks, eyes unmistakably following the way Sander’s fingers move through his hair before he looks back down at him, his eyes wide and hopeful. Sander takes the pass, scans him in. Robbe’s renewed his membership for another year. Sander gives it back, and then realizes he hasn’t responded yet. 

“1:25.” He says dryly, without meaning to, but it just comes out like that. His mouth feels like cotton and his heart feels like it might burst from his chest. He knows he’s got almost no energy, despite sleeping the past few weeks away, but he doesn’t care, something in him wants to jump up and down and _thank the Heavens_. 

The battle within him is conflicting. He wants to go home. He also wants to spend as much time with Robbe as he can right now. He doesn’t know how to do both. 

“If you want to continue the tour, I’ll be around.” Robbe says, and then he’s off, putting on his headphones and disappearing from view. 

“Sander, you could’ve gone on break early.” Angelica says from behind him once Robbe has walked off, but Sander doesn’t turn to look at her, back to drawing his flower, colouring and shading the sides, absently thinking about how much he misses his bed right now. 

“I’ll go soon.” He mumbles after a moment, and he thinks he might hear her sigh, and that makes his heart positively _sink_ into the pit of his stomach. He turns to look at her, “I don’t want to seem _that_ desperate, right?” He tries to smile, and she gives him one back.

“Playing hard to get?"

“You know it.” Then he spins back around as she laughs, and his smile drops, and he’s so overwhelmingly tired, the light that had fired him up was slowly going out. Burning out like the rest of him _._

Ten minutes pass, and Sander stands, unbuttoning his vest and leaving it behind.

“Go get your boy!” Angelica whispers excitedly to him, and Sander huffs a small laugh. 

“I’m gonna have a smoke first.” He mumbles as he exits the booth, not waiting for her answer, or looking at her to find her disapproving stare, masked by indifference. 

He begins to walk back to the side door that leads to the locker rooms, when he spots _him_ , seated on one of the benches. He’s hunched over his phone, headphones on, but then he glances up, almost as if he can sense Sander there just as he stops a few feet away from where Robbe is seated. They’re both motionless in each other's sights until Robbe stands, taking his headphones off with a bright smile. 

“Break time?” Robbe asks, and Sander looks at him blankly for a moment. 

“I was gonna go for a smoke first.” He states again, feeling like a broken record, and though he desperately needs the smoke and the quietness that comes with it, Robbe looks a little dejected, and Sander wishes he wouldn’t have said that. 

But then Robbe smiles again, a little wider than the last. The fire re-ignites. 

“Can I join you?”

And that’s how Sander finds himself seated outside at the back of the museum on a bench, brushing off the snow so they could sit next to one another. Their shoulders brush as Sander digs in his coat pocket for his smokes, pulling one out for himself and offering one to Robbe, who quietly shakes his head. He lights his single cigarette and smokes, the two of them staring at everything and nothing at the same time. 

“So, where have you been the past few weeks?” Robbe asks, “I kept coming around to see if you wanted to continue the tour.” He says with a small laugh, and Sander glances towards him, feeling his face flush at the realization that Robbe’s been staring towards him the whole time. Or maybe that’s the feeling of shame, the guilt coming back in full force as to _why_ he was gone for three weeks. But then again, did Robbe just say he came around looking for him? 

Angelica failed to tell him this information, and it has caught him off-guard just as much as Robbe’s intense gaze does. 

Robbe looks away once Sander meets his eyes, and it makes something in Sander’s chest _ache_. His fingers flinch, he almost reaches out to brush a curl away from Robbe’s cheek. Robbe seems to notice it’s there and brushes it away himself. Sander wonders for a moment if he can read his thoughts. 

“Yeah I - I had some personal stuff going on.” He says, sucking a sharp breath. Robbe looks at him curiously, and Sander swallows a lump in his throat before he speaks, trying to erase irrational thoughts. “I’m uh…I’m bipolar and some shit went down, and, I didn’t have a great few weeks.” He laughs a little dryly after he finishes, but Robbe doesn’t. His face doesn’t fall, and he doesn’t look as if he’s _sorry_ for Sander, despite Sander preparing himself for the _pity_ he usually receives, the _apologies_ . _I’m sorry for you._ He’s learned to ignore it, but he still expects it. 

Instead, Robbe looks _soft_ , as always, and Sander wonders what he’s thinking of him _now_ . The unreliable, dropout, crazy museum boy. He doesn’t feel much like a _dreamer_ , sue him. 

“Oh.” He says softly, and it makes Sander melt a little next to him. 

“Yeah.”

It’s quiet for another moment, and then Robbe shifts closer, their arms brushing again, and Robbe whips out his phone, his small nimble fingers tapping away at his screen, and Sander wants to touch, yearning to twine their fingers together, watch in fascination the way Robbe’s hand dwarfs his own. He’s already thought about it before, many, many times, but he hasn’t been able to stare at Robbe’s hands long enough to memorize them, properly draw them, commit them to memory and canvas. 

“Have you heard of this band? _The 1975?_ ” He asks, showing Sander his screen, where he’s got Spotify open. And Sander almost _laughs_ . Because _yes_ , of course, he knows _The 1975_. He’s been a fan of them for years, he even owns a band shirt, but Robbe looks like he’s excited to introduce Sander to them, so he shrugs instead, holding onto the moment. 

“Tell me about them.” He says, a silent question, because he doesn’t know how he can muster up enough energy to keep a conversation flowing. Robbe shifts even _closer_ , somehow, and Sander lets him, shivering a little from the cold. 

He’s not one to get overwhelmed by the most innocent of touches, he’s used to his mother’s hugs and cuddles, his friend’s overwhelming need to tackle him at a moment’s notice, but now, with Robbe seated next to him, arms and thighs pressed together as Robbe pulls out a pair of earphones for them to share, Sander can’t stop his heart from beating so _fast_. 

His mind instantly spirals to thoughts of them cuddled in his bed, and he has to stop them before it goes any further. He smokes, and breathes, and takes one of the offered earphones from Robbe. 

Robbe plays him _Sincerity is Scary_ , which he can’t help but feel as though Robbe is silently telling him something with the title alone. But he doesn’t have time to think, nor the energy to, so he stores it for later and listens to Robbe as he talks almost through the whole song. 

“I love the chorus. _Why can’t we be friends when we are lovers_ \- genius, don’t you think?” Robbe says, his tongue poking out the corner of his lips as he looks up at Sander to gauge his reaction. Sander nods, feeling lost looking down at Robbe’s lips for a moment, and then Robbe continues, bopping his head to the song. “I think that’s important, right? You should be friends with your lover.” He says, and then, “Not that I would know about any of that.” With a small laugh, and it makes Sander ache an impossible amount more. 

Sander finishes his smoke, but neither stand to go back inside, and instead, Sander lets himself look at Robbe, stare at him without care, the world around him feels nonexistent again compared to how unreserved Robbe is, who then goes on to show him _fallingforyou_ , and once again, talks throughout that song too.

Sander tries not to think that maybe this song choice has a hidden message too, or if Robbe is just playing all the band’s most popular songs to introduce them to him. 

He wonders if Robbe can sense that he’s still not doing well despite making it into work today, because Robbe keeps smiling at him, cracking jokes whenever there’s a small lull in the conversation (which isn’t often, Robbe won’t stop talking). Sander finds himself _laughing_ , freely, happily, and for the first time in three weeks, Sander feels _weightless._

He flicks away his second cigarette in the past however long they’ve spent out here, and that’s when he realizes his fingers are going a little numb, and it doesn’t take long for the rest of him to go numb as well. 

“I gotta get back.” Sander says, shoving his hands in his pockets, but he doesn’t move just yet despite the tone of his voice sounding detached. He doesn’t mean to, but he can’t help it, the weight of having to put on a happy face again feels so much heavier now. 

Robbe’s smile goes a little softer than the last, and he lifts his hand. Sander freezes as Robbe’s fingertips come close to his cheek, as if he’s about to brush across the skin there, but it’s only to pluck the earphone from him. And Sander feels a little breathless just from the proximity and forces himself to stare down at the snow-covered ground for a minute. 

“Did you like the songs?” Robbe asks, casting shy glances towards Sander as he puts away his earphones, and he keeps his hands in his pockets afterward, as if he’s mimicking Sander. 

“Yeah.” Sander breathes, and then nods. “5 stars. Without a doubt.” He finishes with more enthusiasm than he thought he could express, and it makes him sit a little straighter, giving Robbe an easy, lopsided smile, trying to convey the same warmth that Robbe’s been able to ignite in him for the first time in three weeks. 

“Oh?” Robbe laughs, the sweet sound flowing through Sander, making his heart sing. “I think you’re being too easy on me.”

“No way.” Sander shakes his head, and Robbe looks amused, and adorable, with his pinkened cheeks, which Sander isn’t sure if it’s from the cold or his comments, but he’s hoping it’s the latter. _Hope. Dreams._ He’s starting to feel like himself again without even realizing it, and he hopes it’s not all wishful thinking.

“Yeah, because now that you’ve given me 5 stars I have no room for improvement.” Robbe jokes, but there’s something else in the way he looks at Sander that makes his heart yearn instead of sing, as if it isn’t always doing both at the same time whenever Sander gets him alone. It’s only the second time they’ve been alone now, and Sander can’t _wait_ till the next time. _Will there be a next time?_

“You don’t need any improvement. Unless...you _only_ listen to _The 1975_ , which means I’ll have to introduce _you_ to some music next time.” Sander says softly, and before he can stop himself, he nudges Robbe, just a little, but he doesn’t miss the way it makes Robbe’s breath hitch, and maybe it’s the touch, or maybe it’s the words, but he doesn’t answer right away, and Sander freezes. _Next time._ _Please tell me there will be a next time._

“I don’t only listen to _The 1975_.” Robbe says then, taken aback, something borderline playful, maybe even flirty, in the way he sways towards Sander with a smile. Sander wants to get lost in this, he wants to so desperately, to dream. “Do I look like I live under a rock?”

“What do you listen to then?” Sander asks, and Robbe shrugs. 

“Uh...Rap? Like, J. Cole, Travis Scott, Lil Nas.” Robbe stops then, shrugging nonchalantly once again. “What do you listen to?”

“I like the oldies...Queen, Prince, _Bowie_.” Sander says the last one and it brings a big, unwarranted smile to his face, their shoulders brushing again, this time a little more deliberately, and then they stay, pressed together. Sander gets a little bold and presses his knee into Robbe’s, and for a moment Robbe presses back. He’s not sure whether he’s searching for warmth or for his touch, but he figures they fall close anyways, he can let himself have this. 

“I’ll let you choose the music next time, then.” Robbe says, and then he’s standing, turning to face Sander. “I should let you get back, yeah?”

Sander looks up at him, his mouth parted a little, still seated on the bench, unable to move from this spot for a moment as the words sink. _Next time._

Sander stands, finding an unknown strength to push himself up, and now they’re standing so close to one another, and the wind keeps blowing Robbe’s curls into his face. Sander is so desperate to raise his numb fingers to those pink cheeks and _feel_ . He wants to trace every curve, spend hours memorizing how soft he is. Sander _knows_ he is soft, he always looks it, and he craves to know it himself, to have his hands memorize the feel of Robbe’s skin. 

Robbe makes a small hum, almost as if he can read Sander’s thoughts. 

“Thanks for hanging, I’ll see you around?” Robbe says, and he takes a step back, making Sander’s breath escape him. 

“Yeah.” Sander nods, and he watches him walk away, out of the courtyard and around the side of the building, glancing only once back at Sander, that soft smile now seemingly reserved for him. 

“You look happy.” Angelica comments as he makes his way back into the booth, and he feels it too, the glow he’s emitting now, the warmth, the easiness, the effect Robbe has on him. “Did you get his number?” 

“Shit.” Sander curses to himself under his breath, sitting in his chair and putting his vest on. Angelica laughs, and it doesn’t feel condescending in the slightest, and it takes a moment, but then he’s laughing with her, and she’s giving him the brightest smile yet. 

“Next time?”

“Next time.” He agrees, not even sparing a second to think about it. 

He spends the rest of his shift in a daydream, thinking of all the possibilities for _next time_.

### February 2nd - 8:20 PM - i think i’m falling

Sander doesn’t know how many times he can walk around the front hall. He’s already done about ten laps, but he knows he _can’t_ sit in that damn booth any longer. It feels less like a home when he’s here alone, although he’s not technically _alone_. 

Gerard keeps sending him odd looks from where he’s perched on his stool, but he’s half-asleep, and if Sander goes back to his own chair he’ll probably fall asleep, too. One of them has to stay awake for the next forty minutes until close. 

It’s his second late shift in a row, he’s taken the last two Sundays early and late shifts, working himself overtime in hopes of saving enough that he could rent out another studio. His mother had already agreed to help him, lend him some money and giving him no deadline on when to pay her back, but he won’t take it. He knows she just wants to help him in any way she can, but she already does enough, and taking her money wouldn’t sit right with him. 

So he does another lap, and then another, and slowly he starts to get less restless as he runs his hands along the wall, eyes drifting over the random plaques which he never paid much attention to, following the line of the tall columns up the ceiling, letting his head fall back. 

“Bored?”

Sander’s head snaps up at the voice. He knows that voice. He’s _missed_ that voice. 

He’s _craved_ to hear it again, that soft, almost angelic -- no, most definitely angelic, this boy makes Sander believe in a higher power. He’s _yearned_ for the way it makes his heart race, his mind going blank and his soul feels like it’s on _fire_ as his eyes meet those deep brown ones, that doe-eyed stare, as beautiful as they come. Sander feels _alive._

“You’re here.” He hears himself say, his words coming out as barely a whisper, as if he needs to say it to really believe it. He’s been knee-deep in his fantasies, his daydreams, in his work. After the last time he’d met with Robbe he was filled with _inspiration_ again, and his mother didn’t mind that he was spilling his old art supplies around every corner of their home. He was sleeping well, eating well, and was working on some kind of _portfolio_ to submit to a school program. He’s not sure what program yet, he hasn’t gotten that far. 

Robbe smiles and Sander feels it, the warmth that spreads through him, and he wants to reach out, brush his fingers across his cheeks, dip his thumb into those dimples that have been plaguing Sander’s mind. He’s drawn his smile about a hundred different times now, but nothing compares to the real thing. 

“I’m here.” Robbe says, flushing after Sander’s comment, and Sander feels his face go warm too. He can’t believe he just _said_ that, and Robbe heard it, _acknowledged_ it. But he’s been waiting for the past two weeks to see him again, and even though he worked two _full_ Sunday’s in a row, the boy of his dreams hadn’t shown up, until now. 

For a moment he wonders if Robbe is really here, standing in front of him looking so _soft_ and delectable that Sander takes a moment to really soak him in. His restless mind and his exhausted body feel overwhelmed, and Robbe looks nervous, fiddling with the string of his hoodie. 

His grey hoodie, that brown jacket, his headphones around his neck. His hair has grown out a bit, a little curlier and wilder than the last time he’d seen him, and Sander aches to run his hands through it, he aches to get to the art store and buy every color possible, just to get a portrait of him just right. 

“We’re closing in a half-hour.” Sander says, and Robbe nods.

“I know.” He says quickly, and instantly he flushes a little more, a light blush across the top of his cheeks, as if he’s embarrassed about it. He’s still pulling on his hoodie strings, glancing around the room and trying not to meet Sander’s eyes. 

“So…” Sander breathes out, his heart racing way too fast to be safe. He takes a few steps back towards the booth, and Robbe follows. “Do you wanna hang out when I’m done?”

“Do you get to stay around here after the museum closes?” Robbe asks, watching as Sander enters the booth, and Sander hopes Robbe doesn’t notice that he’s counting his steps, trying to make sure he’s not walking weird or anything.

“I can.” Sander responds, smiling towards him, and Robbe nods again, slower this time, and then he leans on the booth, elbows coming to rest and one hand under his chin, finally looking directly at Sander. “Wanna chill?”

“Come find me, after?” He asks, sliding over his pass, and Sander scans it, surprised at how steady his hands are. 

“Okay.” He agrees, sliding the pass back over, and Robbe takes it, their fingertips brushing for just a moment, but it was _electric_ enough to make them both suck in a sharp breath. Sander looks at him, not sure if he felt it too, _he must have_ , Sander’s are still tingling, but just as he does, Robbe looks away, almost bashfully. And _yeah_ , it makes his heart skip. _You felt it too._

“See you soon then.” He says softly, sliding the pass in his pocket, and he gives Sander a small smile just as he turns and puts his headphones on. 

Sander sits in the booth for the remainder of the half-hour, chewing on his lip, fiddling with pens and organizing papers, trying not to watch the minutes click by, slower than before. It’s taunting him now, and he finds himself grinding his teeth, leg shaking absently as he begins to shut down the monitors. 

He spins a few times in his chair, and watches earnestly as Gerard stands from his stool and begins to lock the front doors, and Sander realizes he hasn’t come up with an excuse as to why he needs to stay in the museum after close. 

“I’m gonna lock up and do my rounds, let me know when you’re ready to go.” Gerard says as he passes by the booth, “I’ll be in the security room, take your time.” He glances toward Sander, and the smile he gives him makes Sander think that he knows more than he’s letting on, and it eases Sander. He wonders if Angelica’s talked to him about his _crush_ , if Gerard was awake a moment ago to watch the absolute _mess_ that Sander becomes around him. 

“Cool.” Sander nods, trying not to let the anxiety rise and bubble in the pit of his stomach, and just as Gerard disappears, Sander is up, practically running to the locker rooms. 

He discards his vest, and then stops by the sinks, running some water through his fingers and quickly fixing his hair, not _styling_ it per se, but definitely trying to make himself look the least bit presentable after a long shift. On that thought, he also splashes his face, and wipes it with a paper towel instead of his shirt. _Presentable._ He purses his lips at himself in the mirror for a moment, and then laughs. _Ridiculous_. 

He lets himself smile for a moment, because he feels _good_ . He _should_ smile. And there’s a boy waiting for him. 

Just as he steps into the front hall, he thinks back to their conversation and it makes him pause in his steps, the echo of his boots in the quiet almost making him anxious. 

_Come find me._

Sander runs up the steps two at a time to the second floor and begins roaming each exhibit, eyes searching, and now the resonant sound of his boots _does_ make him anxious, he’s on edge as he rounds each corner. 

But then Sander finds him - and, _really_ , he should’ve checked here first. It’s almost ironic, and downright _poetic_ that this exhibit is Robbe’s apparent favorite. He is the _Moonlight Boy_ , after all. 

“You found me.” Robbe says with a light laugh, and Sander can barely see the outline of him, sitting on the designated bench in the middle of the exhibit. He’s barely illuminated by the projector on the far wall, which changes every few minutes to show different constellations in the night sky. 

“The Constellations, hmm?” Sander muses, stepping into the dark room and he makes his way to Robbe, and then he pauses, standing before him with his hands behind his back, and Robbe looks up at him, the stars dancing across his eyes and his face lights up in a smile, wider than anything he’s ever seen before, his dimples prominent, eyes squinting with mirth. 

“I love the stars.” Robbe says, and then he’s scooting over on the bench a little, despite the fact that there’s lots of room for Sander to sit, patting the spot next to him. Sander sits, and slides towards him, and Robbe turns, staring at the constellation before them. 

“Of course you do.” Sander says, and despite the darkness of the room, Sander can tell he’s got Robbe blushing, and he feels something in him shift, something that’s been there each time he gets to be alone with Robbe, and it’s _growing_ , blooming inside him, the vines curling around his heart and his throat. He shifts his knee, pressing it close to Robbe’s, and Robbe shifts as well, knee pressing back into Sander’s as he lets out a small hum. “So which one is this, then? I don’t come in here often.”

“Really?” Robbe asks, looking towards Sander with a genuine confused and shocked expression, “I uh...I lied the first time we met?” Robbe says then, and he laughs, bringing a few shaky fingers to his curly hair, and Sander is jealous that he can’t be the one to run his hands through it. 

“When?” Sander asks, remembering each moment so vividly. 

“When I said that I don’t have a favorite. Because _this_ is my favorite.” He raises a hand, gesturing to the room around them just as the constellation shifts. “I-” He looks toward the projected image, and stares at it for a moment, and Sander watches Robbe’s eyes, following the outline of the constellation. “I come _here_ specifically, almost every time.”

“Why?”

“Do you know all the myths and legends behind each constellation?” Robbe asks instead, following up Sander’s question with his own, and Sander blinks, jaw going slack as he tries to think of _one_ , but then Robbe turns and looks at the next constellation as the projector shifts, and he smiles softly at it. “They’re all rooted in greek mythology, did you know that?” He asks, glancing toward Sander briefly, who hasn’t looked at _any_ of the constellations yet, his eyes tranced on the sight before him, which is more beautiful than anything the night sky could produce. 

“I didn’t.” Sander says, and then he tears his eyes away from Robbe, and stares at the one before him. “Is that Orion?” He asks, lifting a finger to point, and Robbe follows with a laugh, bringing Sander’s attention right back to him. He’s seen the constellation now, he doesn’t have to look away anymore, so why should he? 

“ _No._ Is that the only one you know? Is that why you asked?” Robbe shifts between staring at Sander and the constellation, ultimately deciding to stare at his hands overall. 

“Maybe.”

Another laugh, another skip of his heart, his breath feeling labored now as he instinctively presses towards him, their shoulders brushing. A gasp, a spark, a closer shift to one another. Then Robbe looks up again. 

“It’s Cassiopeia. The 25th largest constellation in the Northern night sky. It has a very distinct _W_ shape.” Robbe explains after a moment, his voice quiet, his words whispered with care, and a tenderness that makes Sander’s head spin. “Do you know her story?” Sander shakes his head lightly, a silent request to continue. “Cassiopeia was nicknamed the ‘Vain Queen’ because she believed she was the most beautiful creature, even more beautiful than the Nereids - sea nymphs, who were so enraged they got Poseidon to punish her for her boastfulness. Poseiden sent a sea monster after her, which is actually _Cetus_ , the whale constellation, it’ll come up later - anyways -” 

Sander didn’t know someone could possibly look this beautiful just _talking,_ about greek mythology of all things. Robbe kept shifting his gaze between Sander and his hands, reciting a tale of Gods and monsters and sacrifice, all of which Sander hangs onto, and once the projection shifts again, Robbe begins telling him the story of _Corvus_ , then _Hercules_ (Sander knew this one), and _Pictor_ ( _the easel and the palette),_ and so many others that sounded so pretty coming out of Robbe. 

For each story Robbe gets into, as he becomes more animated with his hands and his expressions, Sander is swept up, wondering how he could go from being so _shy_ and _adorable_ to still be the cutest thing he’s ever laid eyes on, but also so...so _natural_ . So _himself_ . He’s in his element just being able to geek about the _stars_ , and Sander thinks he might be getting too deep. 

But there’s something _here_ . He feels it so deeply, his interest and admiration for Robbe growing tenfold each time he’s here with him, able to stare into those deep brown eyes and get positively _lost_ on the feeling, the spark each time Robbe smiles and his eyes twinkle. 

“Oh - what time is it?” Robbe asks suddenly, and Sander blinks, watching as Robbe begins stuffing his hands in his pockets in search of his phone, and once he finds it, the screen lights up his face for a moment as he turns to Sander. “It’s almost 10, how late are we allowed to be here?” He asks, with a hint of nerves in his voice and his small chuckle he lets out as he pockets the phone again, still staring at Sander, waiting on his response. He’s gotten bolder now, he doesn’t look away anymore, and Sander can’t stop staring either. 

“Nah, it’s fine, we can be here as long as we like.”

“How?”

“It’s top secret.” Sander whispers after a moment, and Robbe chuckles, nudging him lightly with his elbow. 

“Shut up.” 

“No I’m serious, if I tell you, you'd have to go into hiding.” Sander smirks, can’t help it. 

Robbe shakes his head with a laugh, a roll of his eyes as he looks away, but then turns right back not a moment after, and meets Sander’s eyes with a blaze like no other, setting Sander’s soul alight as he breathes in this feeling. 

“You..” Robbe trails off, his expression changing from one of playfulness to something just as real as the pounding in Sander’s chest, his heart threatening to burst, words spill from his lips, a confession he hasn’t even properly developed and visualized himself, but how can he not? 

He might just be in love with this starry-eyed boy sitting in front of him, with his lips parting a silent question, gaze drifting across Sander’s features, just as Sander does the same. 

“I…” Sander counters, and he quirks his head down a little in question, and Robbe’s very obvious stare at Sander’s own lips shoots back up to meet his eyes, and he gulps, mouth feeling dry.

His hand flinches on its own accord, reaching forward towards Robbe’s twisted fingers which freeze the moment Sander places the tips of his fingers on him, sending a shock through his system. 

“I-” Robbe begins, but is cut off by the sound of the overhead lights clicking on, startling both of them, hands pulling away. For a moment they still look at one another, now in full light, before they turn to the sound of quick footsteps entering the room. 

“Sorry Sander, but I’ve got another gig in twenty minutes I forgot about, I’ve gotta lock up.” It’s Gerard, looking sheepish, looking between them for an answer. 

“It’s fine, thanks.” Sander says, having to clear his throat a little, still trying to process what had just transpired under the guise of a dark night and bright stars.

Robbe stands first, and Sander follows, and the three of them make their way through the museum, past the locker rooms, (where Sander stopped quickly to grab his coat and bag) and out the back entrance. 

Gerard waved a quick goodbye, another apologetic look sent to Sander before he was off, and then it was quiet again, as if it hadn’t been radio silent between them the whole walk out. 

“Are you working next weekend?” Robbe asks, and stuns Sander for another moment, who was currently trying to figure out something to say to break their silent spell, but the moment Robbe spoke, an overwhelming relief flooded through him.

“Yeah.”

“Okay, well, I’ll see you then?”

“Of course.” Sander nods, and then it’s _quiet_ . _Quiet quiet quiet_ \- but his thoughts, louder than ever, screaming at him, urging him to reach out, step forward, place a hand on Robbe’s cheek -- 

“Alright well-” Robbe says, and then he’s putting his hand out in between them, his small hand requesting -- _a handshake?_ One look at Robbe, with his eyebrows furrowed in question, that glimmer in his eyes, a soft smile beginning to tug at the corner of his mouth. 

Then Sander reaches for it, but pauses a moment before their hands touch, and though he’s confused by the gesture he’s elated at the prospect of getting to hold him, in just the smallest, friendliest way, and for now that’s enough. 

Their hands clasp together slowly, Sander’s hand positively dwarfing Robbe’s hand the way he’d always imagined, and for a moment, as their hands shake together slowly, as their stares linger, Sander is caught up wondering if his hands are too rough, calloused, possibly he’s squeezing too hard, or not enough, he’s not sure of anything in this moment.

Robbe lets go first, and Sander’s hand drops to his side like a dead weight. He might never wash his hand again.

“See you then, Sander.” Robbe nods, and then he’s turning on his heel as he walks swiftly out of sight. 

Sander watches him go, leaning against the brick wall for comfort, for something to ground him back to reality, and quickly takes out a smoke and his headphones once he’s gathered enough courage to go. 

He doesn’t know what falling in love feels like. 

But as his Spotify shuffles on _Moonage Daydream_ and the walk home feels more like he’s floating and then he’s in bed, and his mind hasn’t stopped replaying images of Robbe in his mind, and then he’s seated at his desk, listening to _You_ by the 1975 now. 

He wakes up lying in bed, one hand still holding a pencil and his sketchbook open, arm stretched across his pillow, neck bent at the wildest angle and it _should_ be uncomfortable, but _God_ \--

Unruly chocolate curls, falling across soft cheekbones and softer brown eyes, staring through him, stars surrounding him, defined in graphite and forever etched into his sketchbook. 

He’s _still_ floating, is the thing. He’s on a cloud, and when he sees himself in the mirror, his hair messy to the point it _looks_ like a fluffy cloud, and his cheeks pink and eyes light, he thinks this must be it. 

He’s falling in love. 

Or he’s already there, he’s not sure yet. But the day is a little brighter, a little more colorful, and he’s stopping to smell the flowers. He’s going to let himself enjoy this, even if it’s only for a day, and if he just so happens to spend the rest of his week like this, nobody else has to know. 

### February 14 - 10:10 AM - it’s about time 

The thing is, this past week might’ve just been one of the best weeks of Sander’s young life. Things keep going _up_ , even if it was only the first few steps into replenishing everything he thought he’d lost in those past few weeks of hopelessness and helplessness and all the other -nesses he could think of. He was tired of thinking of them now. He wasn’t letting them consume him now. 

He found a new studio to rent, this time with a much nicer landlord who was _also_ an artist, someone who would understand his work needs and accommodate him much better. He really didn’t think it existed until he found it, and his mother surprised him by taking him to an art supply store and €70 to do with what he pleases. 

So it’s been a good week, that floating feeling has never really left, and today he might’ve just spent a longer time in front of the mirror, styling his hair, choosing between two different pairs of black skinny jeans, and three different shirts. He’d gone with a blue button-up in the end, his mother telling him it makes his eyes pop. 

“You look dressed to impress.” Angelica says when he first enters the booth. 

With a flush of his cheeks he turns away from her. But it never leaves his face, because each time he meets her eyes she keeps giving him an amused grin, one that sees right through him each time he glances towards the museum’s entrance. 

“You waiting for someone in particular?” She asks, continuing to pry while Sander shrugs as nonchalantly as he can, because _no_ , he isn’t looking for anyone, and... is he really that transparent? Angelica puts a hand over her mouth as she laughs, and it makes his blush deepen. 

“I think we were on a date last week.” Sander says, and Angelica gasps, lighting up completely before him in excitement. Without her asking, Sander tells her all about Robbe and The Constellations and what he suspected was an almost kiss. 

“And you _still_ didn’t get his number?” She teases.

“We got interrupted! I was too caught up to even think about asking-”

“Well, there’s always next time.” She chimes sweetly, optimistic. 

“Yeah.” He nods, because he’s feeling pretty good about it, too. 

The time goes by faster than he’d hoped, the Valentines day rush keeping him busy and unable to take a moment to himself to breathe properly. He’s almost finished his shift when his eyes finally land on the one person he’s been waiting to come. 

Robbe steps up to the doors, and Sander can already feel his heart leaping into his throat, the feeling of pure delight beginning to flow through him -- but - 

Someone is trailing next to Robbe, someone tall, handsome, making Robbe laugh as he opens the door for him. The sound of it echoes over to Sander, who is so shocked that Robbe _brought_ someone here, of all places -- 

“Hi, Sander.” Robbe says the moment he and his unknown friend (Sander hopes it’s a friend) have approached the booth. They must have teleported in front of him, for Sander was still speechless, eyes glued to Robbe, as real and sweet as ever. 

He looks nice today, as if he ever doesn’t look nice. He’s wearing black jeans and a navy blue hoodie underneath a jean jacket. No hat, and his hair looks freshly cut, Sander’s need to run his hands through it is growing tenfold. But so is the lump in his throat, his nerves bubbling up, disappointment and confusion probably clearly etched into his features. 

Sander only has one thought running through his mind right now, the evidence laid out right before his eyes, feeling like a deep cut into his heart. 

_Robbe is on a date._

“Hey.”

“One day pass as well, please.” Robbe nods towards the boy he’s brought along as he naturally slides his pass to Sander. 

“Sure thing.” Sander nods, keeping it professional as he sits back in his chair to print out a pass and log Robbe into the system, all while trying to combat his ragged breathing, his palms getting sweatier as he tries not to let his thoughts consume him completely. “€15.” He says a little dryly, the smile on his face feeling torturous as the boy Robbe is with takes out some money, handing it to him. 

Sander meets his eyes for a moment, the stranger’s eyes boring back into his curiously, a small smirk on his features as the two take each other in. It’s oddly quiet between them, an unknown energy of awkwardness shifting between the three of them, and Sander is _really_ trying not to let it get the best of him, letting himself steal a quick glance at Robbe. More questions flood his mind than answers. _Who is this? I thought we --_

“So _this_ is Sander?” Robbe’s friend says suddenly, sounding fascinated. Robbe’s head snaps towards him, eyes wide and alarmed, clearing his throat, but his friend doesn’t look over at him, he keeps his eyes on Sander. 

“Yeah?” Sander asks, looking between the two, desperate for answers, for _something_ , for them to never have come at all. He doesn’t know _how_ he’s functioning right now, everything inside of him feels like it’s being torn apart. 

“Nice to meet you. I’m Jens.” _Jens_ says, cocking his head to the side as his smile widens, and Sander doesn’t know how he’s supposed to compete with the likes of _Jens_ , with a jawline like that and his lips pouted effortlessly. He can’t read his expression, if he’s meaning to sound genuine or taunting. 

Robbe quickly grabs his pass and the single ticket, wrapping his other hand around Jens’ wrist and hurriedly pulling him away as he mutters something under his breath. They depart quickly, the two of them in a quiet heated discussion, Jens looking amused at the interaction and unsure of why Robbe is so quick to get away. 

Sander tries to focus on a spot on the far wall for a moment, try to clear his spiraling thoughts and not take another look at Robbe and Jens - but he can’t help himself, and just as he takes another look over towards them, he finds Robbe already sending him a smile from over his shoulder, nothing but kind eyes and a hint of something more. It does nothing to help the way he can’t catch his breath. 

Robbe is gone, and Sander takes a deep breath, sitting lifeless in his chair. _He’s on a date. He brought someone_ here _on a date._

“He brought someone here on a date.” Sander says aloud, not to really anyone in particular, mostly just to make the words real and feel them on his tongue, but the moment he says it, he hears Angelica let out a disapproving hum, and he spins around to look at her. 

“I thought you-”

“It’s Valentine's Day, Angelica, and he came here on a _date._ ” 

“Sander.” She tsks lightly, and looks as though she’s about to push out of her chair to come over and comfort him, but Sander is quick to wave it off, not wanting to discuss it anymore. 

He has one hour left of his shift, and as he stares at his pathetic reflection in the computer monitor he can’t help but frown. He hates this button-up now more than ever and raises his hand to fumble with the top button, feeling too constricted in it, his other hand coming to run through his hair, muse it up a little more. 

“I’m such an idiot-”

“Nope, I won’t have that.” Angelica is out of her chair in a second, and she spins Sander around to face her, his hands dropping to his lap. Her expression is hardened as she places her hands on the sides of his chair, completely enclosing him. “You are _not_ an idiot for having feelings, _especially_ after hanging out with him what, _three_ times now?” Sander gives her a pathetic nod of his head, eyes fixed on his thumbs running over each other. “Don’t give up just yet, I can see the way he looks at you, and from my perspective, he’s definitely _not_ on a date.” 

“What makes you think that he’s not?”

“A mother’s intuition.” She responds quickly, as if that explains anything. Then she steps back, a small nod of her head towards him as she sits back in her chair and takes the group of customers that’d come up. Sander is grateful that she takes them, a rowdy group of teenagers that he definitely doesn’t have the energy to talk to right now. 

The hour passes, and Sander leaves the booth feeling more dejected than ever. 

He’s about to make his way across the room and into the back when he hears someone calling his name. 

“Yo, wait up Sander!” 

It’s Jens, the last person Sander wants to see right now. But he’s not alone either, he’s with a girl now instead of Robbe, and the two of them are holding hands, fingers laced with purpose. Sander’s head starts to spin as the two of them approach him, standing before him with smiles and a seemingly exciting energy, as the two can’t stand still. 

“Uh, hey?”

“You finished your shift?”

“Yes.”

“Cool, we’re heading out. Robbe said to tell you that he’s ‘ _waiting in our exhibit_ ’. It was nice meeting you!” He brings his free hand up to air quote, and before Sander can ask, or simply get a word processed through his muddied thoughts, Jens and the girl leave, lingering smiles on their faces as they practically hop out of the museum. 

He stands there for a minute longer until he looks over to Angelica, whose been flailing her arms around to get his attention, eagerly pointing towards the staircase. 

“What are you waiting for?” She mouths almost aggressively, a big grin on her face afterward, and Sander is _off_ , the moments feeling almost surreal as if he’s not the one on the way to Robbe _right now_ . Robbe, whose waiting for him in - _their_ exhibit? _Which one?_

Sander tries to calm the smile on his face, the incessant beat of his heart that might just make him explode. And for once, something he hopes for manifests before him in the middle of the seemingly empty constellations exhibit. He had a feeling this is where Robbe would be. 

Robbe is standing with his hands clasped together in front of him, a peaceful look on his face as his eyes dance across the stars, and Sander almost feels like he’s intruding. But then Robbe glances towards the entrance, and then does a double-take, a smile lighting up on his features the moment he spots Sander. 

“There you are.” Robbe says, and motions for Sander to come towards him, and it’s the easiest thing he’s ever had to do. Robbe ends up meeting him halfway, both of them sucking in sharp breaths at the closeness. 

“How are you?” Sander asks, he doesn’t know why he feels the need to, but Robbe’s big brown eyes are on him, and he’s desperate to know what’s running through his mind. 

“Better now.” Robbe says after a pause, lips quirking to the side as he grins, one eyebrow raising. “You?”

“Better now.” Sander repeats, and Robbe huffs a small laugh. “Can I ask you something?”

“Anything.” Robbe shrugs, his response is so quick that he looks nervous now, pulling the corner of his bottom lip between his teeth, staring up at Sander, waiting. 

“Were you on a date?”  
  
“Huh?” Robbe questions, lips parting in confusion as his eyebrows knit together. Does he have to be so cute all the time? 

“With um...Jens?” Sander desperately hopes his anxiety is etched into every part of his face right now, although he tries to keep his face as calm as possible. Robbe blinks blankly at him for a moment, and then he laughs.  
  
“What? _No-_ ” Robbe laughs some more as he shakes his head, nose scrunching up as he does, eyes crinkling in the corners, and Sander doesn’t understand how he could possibly get any lovelier. “Jens is my best friend, and his _girlfriend_ met up with us here before they went to dinner.” 

“Oh.” Sander nods. 

“Yeah I might’ve told him I was nervous, so he said he’d come with me -”

  
“Why are you nervous?”

Robbe almost looks like a deer caught in headlights, but then he softens, and tentatively raises his hand, reaching forward to take Sander’s. A small gasp, and then their fingers are laced, and nothing has ever felt more right, almost like they were made for this. 

Sander wasn’t sure if Robbe was feeling the same - up until right now, he doesn’t think he ever would have. 

But Robbe is staring down at their hands with a timid smile that widens at the small squeeze Sander gives him, Robbe returning it after a pause as he looks up at Sander beneath his lashes, blush spreading across his cheeks, constellations having _nothing_ on the twinkling in his eyes. 

“Can I ask _you_ something?” Robbe counters, the words whispered with sweet intentions. 

“Anything.” Sander nods, whispering back just as soft, as though there is no rush, and truly, there isn’t. He’s going to be patient, he’s going to live through each moment to the fullest of extents, with Robbe’s hand in his he could take on the world. 

“Last time we were here,” Robbe steps a small bit closer, gazes locked, letting out a shaky breath before he continues, “Were you going to kiss me?”

“Yes.” 

They both glance down at one another’s mouths, eyes magnetized back to one another quickly, a silent question, an invitation on both sides. 

Sander gulps, and before he can ask, Robbe speaks, 

“You can try again if you’d like.” 

Sander brings a finger to lift Robbe’s chin, leaning forward and savoring the feeling of their lips brushing softly, their eyes fluttering shut despite trying to keep their eyes on one another, and everything around them simultaneously bursts in colors and ceases to exist. 

Their hands unlace slowly, Sander tilting his head to the side and Robbe letting him take the lead as Sander’s hand slides from beneath his chin and around the side of his face, cradling him as sweet and soft as he is, mouths melding together, getting to know one another. His other hand drifts to rest on Robbe’s hip, and he can barely register the feeling of Robbe’s hands against his chest, the way his fingers dig into the front of his shirt and pull him closer, deeper. 

It’s slow and quiet, the hum of the projector and the languid movement of their mouths, noses brushing as they part even slower than they’d kissed, exhaling shaky breaths as they dare to look at one another. 

It’s a moment of eyes intensely searching, and suddenly, as though he had not just been philosophizing about how time is irrelevant to them right now, they both meet halfway, desperately pulling one another back in without another second to waste. 

Their lips collide and part as soft breaths escape them both, Sander moving his hand to the back of Robbe’s neck, pulling him impossibly closer with a hand on his lower back, and Robbe whimpers softly against him when Sander’s fingers press lightly into his skin, melting into his embrace. Sander feels intoxicated on his taste and his scent, unable to decide which is sweeter. He wants to breathe him in, drink up every inch of him. 

His body feels on _fire_ , every touch and swipe of their tongues ignites a new light, warmth spreading and coursing into each burning star cast across the walls that surround them. 

When they part again it’s to catch their breath properly, Sander leaning his forehead against Robbe’s as their pants turn to slow breaths. There’s a moment’s pause before Sander lets himself open his eyes, Robbe moving away just an inch to properly look at him. 

“Wow.” Robbe says, and then he lets out a small chuckle, running a few fingers down the side of Sander’s cheek, playing with the small strands of hair that had come undone from Sander’s styling, his eyes shifting across Sander’s features. 

“You have no idea how long I’ve waited to do that.” 

“I think I do.” Robbe giggles a little more, and Sander can’t do anything but smile. Despite smiling all day, the most effortless ones always come when Robbe is around. Then Robbe moves forward and kisses him again, Sander eagerly responding, fingers weaving through Robbe’s curls, feeling like silk beneath them. 

The kiss is slow once again, Robbe giving him a few more pecks before he slowly parts. Robbe looks at him for a long moment, hand coming up to push Sander’s hair back and then keep his hand rested at the back of his neck. 

It’s quiet between them, nothing more needs to be said. And Sander doesn’t mind, he just wants to hold Robbe in his arms for as long as he can at this moment, savor each sickly sweet second. 

But then a thought comes to mind, and Sander almost chokes, having to halt his laughter and his nerves all in one. 

“So uh...can I get your number?” He asks, and Robbe laughs not even a second after, the sound lifting his heart, watching as Robbe throws his head back, cheeks flushed and dimples prominent. 

He moves forward and kisses Sander again, and Sander smiles against it, unable to contain anything right now. 

“Yeah.” Robbe breathes out, but they both know that they’ve gone this long without exchanging numbers, they can wait a few more minutes, they can spare a few more kisses. 

And that’s exactly what they do.   
  


**Author's Note:**

> thank you for reading! kudos & comments always appreciated !! <3


End file.
